Warhawks Redux
by N. Kage
Summary: A complete revisitation of my Complete Warhawks. The First Company is on the hunt for their traitorous brethen in this epic chronicle of death and mayhem!
1. Lange Fields

**Warhawks**

Chapter 1

Lange Fields

"When will my soul be like thrice-forged steel?' shouted Chaplain Kylan to the survivors of the first company of the Warhawks Chapter as the orks charged again, their fire-red eyes glowing in the Space Marines visors. This was the tenth day straight day of battle, and the orks were still coming. The Thunderhawks could not land because the orks owned the skies, but Kylan would not abandon this world to the orks while at least one Marine still breathed.

The world of Sinon definitely had an infestation of orks. The first and last estimate by the Machine-Sprit of the _Swooping Flame_, the First Companies assigned Strike Cruiser, put the orks numbers at roughly fifteen thousand, with supporting tanks and vehicles. Approximately a hundred-and-twenty to one when the battle began, which were odds Kylan could respect.

Kylan had no idea if the _Swooping Flame _still in orbit! The ork fleet had been hiding on the far side of the sun, half a dozen heavy cruiser equivalents. The Thunderhawks had no time to extract the company. Kylan loosed a flurry of bolts, a half dozen red bursts across the first mass of orks.

"In the heat of battle!" came the reply over the crash of seventy-five bolters firing. They had run out of flamer canisters and the like yesterday and were running out of bolter ammunition, but the orks kept coming. Captain Koresh had died two days ago killing a particularly huge ork, probably a so called 'war boss' and that had almost broken the Company, but their righteous fury drove them on. Kylan was in-charge now and his litanies of hate drove the Marines on. The ork weapons were crude and malfunctioned half the time, but with so many firing at once, a dozen Marines fell, their armor breached in a half-dozen places by numerous hard-round impacts. Hundreds of orks had died now, and their charge was beginning to lose momentum.

"When does your duty to the Emperor end?" again yelled Kylan as the next ork wave came into sight. This one was slowed by the sheer number of corpses and even more died from the massed volleys of Space Marines. Even so, the orks were making progress towards the Space Marine line. He had not chosen this spot to fight, it had been chosen by the orks. An open field was not the place to fight against a horde.

"In deaths cold embrace!" again came the shouted reply. Ammo was scarce now, the bodies of the dead Marines being carefully searched for any and all magazines. The orks seemed to sense the faltering fire, and their courage was renewed. With a brutal cry of 'WAAAGH!' the orks sped up again, brutal cleavers and heavy pistols at the ready as they slammed into the Marines.

All along the line the Space Marines were fighting viscously against the orks. Chaplain Kylan was at the fore, his shining Crozius Arcanum sizzling as thick green ork blood boiled off the power field. A giant ork reared in front of Kylan, a massive cleaver raised above its head. Snarling, Kylan sliced his Crozius into the orks chest, but the razor-sharp blade stuck fast in its rib-cage. Bellowing, the ork wrapped its arms around Kylan and squeezed him in a giant bear-hug. Kylan could hear the power-generator on his back sputter as the ork crushed him, then he could feel the ceramite plate that formed his back-armor begin to crack. Kylan brought his helmeted forehead straight down into the orks nose with the gut-wrenching crack of bone. The ork released its bear-hug, thick green blood gushing from its crushed nose and Kylan shot it in the head three times with his bolt-pistol. The plasma-pistol he normally carried had taken a piece of shrapnel to one of the coils and he did not want to risk the ancient thing blowing up in his hand and so was safely tucked into a holster. Looking around, Kylan could see this wave had ended, but a low chanting from the ork lines signaled that another was about to begin. Would they not stop coming?

"What will be your reward?" shouted Kylan. He had no doubts that they would all die today, but they would sit at the right hand of the Emperor in the next life. Such was the reward of duty.

"The knowledge I have done my duty!" was the reply from the fifty battered survivors of the 1st Company. Every Marine was bloody and battered, but the determination in their voices was clear as day. This battle would be both a tragedy and a display of courage to future generations of Space Marines. The next wave was in sight now, this one comprised of thousands of orks, their battle-cries deafening. Behind the orks, crude smoking tanks drove, clanking and sputtering, dozens of slave creatures repairing the tanks as they rode along. Kylan quickly checked the load on his pistol and found it empty. In disgust, Kylan slid the pistol into the holster upon his thigh and took up his Crozius with two hands.

"What will be your battle-cry?" shouted Kylan as the ork wave was almost upon them, their firearms forgotten in their battle-lust. The Chaplain raised his Crozius above his head and bisected the first ork that came over the barricade, the orks moment carrying the two halves of the green beast past Kylan.

"Death comes for you!" came the reply as the Marines began to fight their last battle. Kylan was swinging great figure-8's, killing the orks in droves. One body-slammed the Chaplain and threw him to the ground, screaming a brutal war-cry. A member of his Reclusiarch squad, men who were in training to take his place when he died, blew the ork apart with a plasma-gun.

"You have my thanks, Brother Erastus!" Kylan shouted as he flipped back to his feet. Another ork reared in front of Kylan, swinging a heavy axe and spraying widely with his crude bolt-pistol. His Rosarius failed, and the rounds dented his chest-plate. Gritting his teeth and forcing more power to the servos in his shoulders and arms, Kylan grabbed the ork by the neck and took its head off his Crozius.

"My pleasure, Brother-Chaplain! By the Emperor, that's a big ork!" Erastus returned, a 'nob' chopping a marines arm off with a brutal cleaver while punching him across the face. A stream of super-heated plasma left the ork missing half its chest. The Tactical marine was quite dead.

The barricade was down, swamped by heavy green bodies. Bolt gun ammo was gone. The flamers were down to their last shots; plasma-gunners had a few canisters, melta-guns the same. Things were not looking good. They were down to blades, fists and hate. Then again, that's all a marine really needed anyway.

A tank shell or something blew up in front of the marine line, showering them with shrapnel and green blood. No one was done, but it meant the tanks were getting closer. It was not a good sign. Heavy autocannon fire started incoming also. A marine from his Reclusiarch squad fell to ground, his head and torso a mass of shell-craters and impacts.

Kylan flicked a retinal rune, switching to the all-squads frequency, "Any grenades left?" A chorus of negatives was his response. They had nothing left to knock out the tanks. Sergeant Cadmus had a power-fist, but he was dead. A slave-creature detonated a handful of charges at his feet.

"Close ranks! Do not turn your backs to them! For the Emperor, we will be remembered this day!" Kylan held his Crozius high, the Banner-bearer, Reiata, raising the standard high as a rallying point. The banner, covered with the many battle-honors of the first, was burnt on the edges, light shining through numerous bullet and shrapnel holes. Kylan side-stepped an orks charge and rammed his fist into its face with a sharp crack.

Suddenly, the sky was lit up by flame. From the clouds, came a dozen or more drop-pods, their green and red hulls glowing. With a shriek of landing thrusters, the drop-pods slowed and landed in the middle of the ork horde. Automated storm-bolters on the drop-pods opened fire and chewed a clear circle around each drop-pod. Then, the pods split open like seed-pods and the men of the second company poured out, bolters blazing. The orks died in droves, such was the shock the drop assault.

The second company marines pushed the orks back over their own dead, leaving dozens more corpses in their wake. Captain Jorran was at the fore, his ancient power sword cleaving a 'Nob' in two, and his plasma-pistol spitting death. Descending down behind the drop-pods came three squads of Assault Marines, their jump packs flaring as they neared the ground, bolt pistols barking. The Assault squads had landed in the orks line of retreat, cutting them off to be culled like cattle. The Warhawks did not abandon their brothers.

One Marine in particularly ornate power armor, with golden eagle heads decorating the exhaust vents on his power-pack and purity seals dotted along his chest-plate, strode up to Kylan.

"You are Master-Chaplain Kylan?" spoke the Marine in a deep, commanding voice, a gold lightening claw on his right hand, and a storm bolter slung over his left shoulder-guard. Kylan noticed that the Marine had already painted the center strip of his helmet red, which marked him as of the first company.

"Yes, I am." Kylan replied, picking bits of ork out of the gaps in his armor. He would have to venerate its machine-spirit before it failed him.

"I am Captain Mepesto. The Council has heard of death of Captain Koresh and I have been sent to replace him." Kylan could see an Iron Halo rising from the center of the Captains power-pack and he wondered what the Captain had done to earn such an honored relic.

The Warhawks did not have a Chapter Master, but instead were controlled by a Council of the greatest heroes and highest ranking Marines, battle-hardened men from every company who decided the fate of the Chapter. Long ago, when a section of the Warhawks turned to Chaos, the Council had been created so that if the Chapter Master succumbed to heresy, he would not take the Chapter with him.

"Well, sir, this is fairly irregular, usually the company promotes someone from within to be the Company Captain, and I don't know why the Council would… _force_ someone upon us." Kylan knew that he was being slightly insubordinate to the Captain, but it was tradition in the Company that the new Captain was elected.

"Chaplain, after the Hell Gate massacre, the Council would have sent me to a reserve company, but after hearing of the death of Captain Koresh, I requested this company for my command." Mepesto stated simply. He had a different reason for selecting the first company for his command, but Kylan did not need to know right now.

"I'm sorry, Captain, I didn't realize…"

"It's alright, Brother-Chaplain. Now, you can say you survived the Battle of Lange Fields. Now, Thunderhawks are coming to gather up the men, we'll be going back to the _Swooping Flame_ to get reinforcements from the reserve companies. I'll address the Company after that."

"Acknowledged, Captain." With that, Kylan walked back to where the 1st Company had arranged themselves in perfect parade formation, tattered banners flapping in the light breeze. Kylan was proud of the Company; any other force would be lounging, or taking trophies, like the heretical Space Wolves. Unwashed barbarians, though Kylan, before banishing the thoughts from his mind.

"Attention, my battle-brothers' began Kylan, 'I am immensely proud of you all. The dead shall be remembered as the Emperors Finest. Your bravery will be taught to the new initiates and the names of the dead will be recorded in the Hall of Heroes in the Chapter Monastery."

As one, the fifty survivors of Lange Fields raised their voices in a cheer.

_Aboard the Swooping Flame_

Cradling his helmet under his arm, Captain Mepesto strode up to the podium in front of the assembled 1st Company. Just days after Lange Fields, the Company was still at about seventy percent strength, even with reinforcements from the reserve squads that had come with the Second Company and their ship, _the Wrath of the Emperor._ Now, Mepesto was addressing his Marines.

"Praise the Emperor" began Mepesto, his deep voice reverberating off the distant walls of Chapel.

"Praise the Emperor" boomed the men of the 1st Company in return.

"As you already know, I will be taking over command of this company after the death of the honored Captain Koresh. Since the company has lost much of its strength at Lange Fields, I will be limiting the Companies deployments to small-unit actions until such time that it is at full strength,' Mepesto paused, gathering his thoughts, 'For those of you who don't know, I fought at the Hell Gate and for my actions there, I was given the command of this Company. Let me tell you the tale from my view, even though I know you probably have read the reports. The daemons had just attacked, and we were falling back in disarray. Dozens of good Marines had already died and the bearer of the Second Company's standard, Brother Saul, had just been slain, the sacred banner being propped up by his body. I rallied my squad around me and pushed forward through the daemons to recover the standard. By the time I reached the Banner, my entire squad was dead. I lifted the Banner above my head, and forged my way back to firing line. One hour later, the Thunderhawks, _Eagle Flight_ and _Salvation,_ picked up the survivors.' Mepesto paused again, the weight of so many dead comrades heavy on his mind, 'After the Chaplain Kylan's sermon, we shall resume training." With that, Mepesto saluted and strode away, to join his command squad at the front of the chapel.

The chapel aboard the _Swooping Flame_ was small compared to the ones the Black Templars or other, fanatic Chapters, but the vaulted roof soared two dozen meters above their heads. Statues of the previous company heroes, men who had forged a bloody path across the stars to make their warriors-name, men who had fought in the most terrible battles, men who had died honorably.

Kylan nodded to him and took his place at the podium. "KNEEL!" he commanded. With a deafening crash, one-hundred and sixty armored knees hit the adamantine floor.

"Where would we be without the Emperor?" asked Kylan

"Nowhere, for the Emperor is all." Responded the 1st Company as one, their deep voices echoing off the buttressed walls of the chapel.

"What do we ask of Him?"

"Nothing, we owe Him for His sacrifice."

"What does He ask of us?"

"Our unquestioning obedience and undying loyalty."

"How will you be judged by the Emperor?"

"By the measure of my life's deeds."

"Praise the Emperor"

"Praise the Emperor."

"You are dismissed." Kylan said simply as he moved off the podium, swinging a censor that billowed clouds of sweet smelling smoke. He was not armored, dressed only in simple dark green robes. He was still wearing a rictus-mask, decorated as a grinning skull.

Mepesto stayed after the sermon, he needed to speak to Kylan. The Chaplain was still standing behind the great oak podium, watching the company file out of the Chapel to resume their training. Mepesto rose and walked over to Kylan.

"Do you have a moment, Master Chaplain?" Mepesto was purposely formal, what he needed to speak to the Chaplain about deserved nothing less.

"For the faithful, I always have time.' The Chaplain responded, 'Do you wish to go to my Reclusium?" The Reclusium was the Chaplains personal quarters, located behind the chapel. It was his inner sanctum, the most holy place in the entire ship.

"I believe we should." The Chaplain lead Mepesto to a small, sparse room tucked away behind a statue of the previous Chaplain. His room had a bed, statues of the Emperor, Robute Guilliman and Sebastian Thor. He also had an armor and weapons stand, the dark wood worn with age and use.

"What would you like to speak to me about, Captain?" The Chaplain had remained standing, but had removed his rictus-mask. Few Marines had seen the Chaplains face and this was Mepesto's first time. The Chaplain had a square, set jaw, with piercing blue eyes. Across his face, the shadows of pre-Marine tattoos could be seen; a serpent curling on his cheek, and a sunburst on the other. On his brow, there were one silver and two white studs, for one-hundred years as a Sergeant, and two-hundred years as a Chaplain. He was getting old.

"Chaplain Kylan, I felt the need to tell you this information, because I feel you can be trusted with this information, since it could pose a morale issue. I have requested the command of this company for a different reason. I have sworn an oath to the Emperor, in front of the Council, that I will hunt down and kill Bjorn Death-Hand, and bring his head before the Council. To make this task more difficult than it currently is, the company cannot take on more recruits. Do you understand?" Mepesto bowed his head and waited for the Chaplain to answer.

Bjorn Death-Hand. That name was a curse, a plague upon humanity. He was once a Warhawk company captain, a distinguished veteran of dozens of wars and battles. He was rumored that he was to be a Councilman, if he could overcome his temper. He would go berserk in battle, uncaring of the destruction he threw upon his foes.

During the battle to retake a planet from the Word Bearers, Bjorn fell prey to their words and their promises of power. Then, Bjorn spread their heresy to his company, the fifth, and to the sixth Company. That was four hundred years ago. Since then, they had burned dozens of worlds and slaughtered thousands of men. Several Captains had lead forces against him, but each in turn was wiped out or were turned to Chaos by Bjorns false promises of power.

Now it was Mepestos turn.

After a tense moment, Kylan answered, "Yes, Captain, I do understand and I am proud that you have chosen this company for this task. I believe it is best if we indeed left the company known, it will fill their hearts with pride and duty."

Mepesto smiled for a moment. "You are, of course, correct, Brother-Chaplain. That is a duty for morning sermons tomorrow."

Kylan nodded respectfully. "Is there anything else, Cpatain?" Mepesto looked up and saw that the Chaplain had replaced his rictus-mask and picked up his Crozius and was staring at the ancient power weapon.

"No, Chaplain. I will let you return to your duties." Mepesto saluted and turned on his heel, walking out of the Chaplains quarters. He had to see how the training was progressing with his new company.


	2. First blow and curious eyes

Chapter 2

Interrogation; Traitors are found

Kylan stood in the shadows, watching the former Space Marine struggle futilely against the great chains binding him to the huge, black slab of granite. Surrounding the prisoner were dozens of statues. They were former Chaplains of the Warhawks, and had been built in such a way that they were looking down upon whoever was there, as if the dead were judge, jury, and executioner. He had to break this traitor.

"Who is your Lord?" Kylan asked of the prisoner, his deep voice echoing off the walls of the tiny chamber.

"I have no lord, except the Chaos powers.' Responded the prisoner derisively, his voice sarcastic. 'You would believe too, but your faith in a corpse-god blinds you!' the prisoner spat. 'The Emperor is nothing! He sits upon the Black Throne, a shriveled husk while the Imperium dies around him!

"The Emperor is your Lord!' screamed Kylan, striding up to the prisoner and back-handing him across his face. 'I worship the God-Emperor, as you once did, but you were weak, you allowed yourself to be swayed by false promises and the teachings of heretics!"

"Ha! You call the Word Bearers heretics? They were once the most pious of Legions, until the Emperor turned his back on them! They found better masters, masters who awarded and gave them gifts for their worship. What does your Emperor do for you? He gives no gifts; He lets you have no favors. Why do you worship him?" The prisoner responded back, his tone harsh and critical.

"The Emperor gives His favors in the next world! I know when I die; I will be seated at His right hand, whereas you will be the plaything of daemons. Because you worship the dark gods, you will be tormented for all eternity!' The Chaplain countered masterfully. 'Tell me where Bjorn is!" Kylan resumed his questioning, his arms crossed behind him.

Smiling in a way that made Kylan feel unclean, the prisoner said, "You should stop worrying about where Bjorn is and instead worry about your faith. The false-Emperor is not worth your praise and admiration. There are other powers in this universe you know…" Kylan had taken a scalpel and sliced an Imperial Eagle in the traitor's chest. The traitor bled black blood and the symbol made his foul skin burn, the foul smoke causing Kylan to grimace.

Walking in circles around the prisoner, Kylan thought about the fortuitous events that brought the prisoner into his custody.

The Korkan subsector was a hunting ground. The _Swooping Flame_ was the prey, trying to lure Bjorn's fleet out of hiding at the promise of easy targets. Picket ships had detected anomalous readings in the area, and local intelligence from an Inquisitorial investigation said Bjorn might be nearby, so Mepesto was here, looking for him.

The Inquisition. One of the most secretive and infamous organizations in the Imperium of man, they were responsible for a huge variety of tasks, from the daemon-killers of the Ordo Malleus, to the heretic-finders of the Ordo Hereticus, to the alien-hunters of the Ordo Xenos, the Inquisition had absolute authority over almost every Imperial organization and vast forces at their disposal to do as they willed. Hopefully, the Inquisition would not figure out why the Warhawks were here.

At the very least, the Warhawks would be forced to lay down their weapons and armor and subject themselves to a purity screening of the most intense nature. They would languish in a prison-rock until the Inquisition decided not to kill them.

"New readings, at six-four-eight, fifteen thousand kilometers and closing. Correction, several readings, multiple ships, of an unknown designation. Searching archives for designation now." A servitor, hard-wired into the sensorium array called out in a wheezy, thin voice.

Mepesto inhaled sharply. "Begin to drop power in the engines, let them think we're in distress. Be prepared to boost power to the engines and forward arrays on my mark!" Several menials jumped to follow Mepesto's orders. The bridges lights dimmed, the flow of power from the plasma-core slackening.

"Captain,' hissed Tech-Marine Cacus, his voice metallic, 'you are bringing the plasma-core dangerously close to tolerances. Too much energy left in the core will eventually cause overheating and meltdown. Surely we can avoid such a danger by instead pumping the excess power into space?" Cacus was an expert in field-craft, calculating trajectories, enemy figures, velocities and the like, but like a Tech-Marines, he had been selected for his affinity with all things technological and given extensive training on Mars.

"Make it so, Tech-Marine."

"Two ships have been positively identified, the _Vulkanis_, and the _Terminus Est,_ Strike Cruisers reported lost/missing-in-action in M40400 by the Warhawks. Two others ships are old-patterned Imperial transports, unknown designation. Another ship is of an unknown class, possibly a heavy cruiser or light battleship, and unknown designation." The sensorium servitor wheezed again.

So it was Bjorn. They were heavily out-gunned and out-numbered. There was no way the _Swooping Flame_ could take on that many ships and survive, and if the battle went planetside, the first company would be facing heavy odds.

"Are there any nearby Imperial Navy ships?" Mepesto asked, his mind working.

"A task-force from the Segmentum Obscuras is on its way here, under an Inquisitorial directive. They will be here in approximately six hours, if no delays." Another servitor chimed.

"We will fire one valley of torpedoes, the fall back to the far world and unload the company. Cacus, you'll have to keep the _Swooping Flame_ safe until the task-force arrives." Mepesto did not care about eliminating any of the heretics or their fleet; all he wanted to do was bring Bjorn and the other traitors to the Emperors swift justice.

"It might not work Captain,' Cacus began, 'the previous plasma-drives used in a standard Keta-pattern Adeptus Astartes Strike Cruisers allow for a higher acceleration rate than the current marks."

"Just make it so." Mepesto snorted.

His plan worked perfectly. As the traitor fleet began to close, the power-off _Swooping Flame_ fire a salvo of torpedoes, and withdrew to the far planet, the enemy close behind. The torpedoes inflicted light damage to the _Terminus Est_, which was hardly recognizable as a mighty Strike Cruiser anyway.

As the _Swooping Flame_ circled around the planet, which was uninhabited as far as Mepesto knew, and launched almost score of drop-pods, containing most of the squads and several dreadnoughts for armor support. Several squads, two assault and one tactical, remained aboard the _Swooping Flame_ for defensive purposes.

As the _Swooping Flame_ withdrew, Bjorns forces descended upon the world, several dozen heavy shuttles and ancient Thunderhawks disgorging hundreds of traitor guardsmen and Bjorns chaos space marines.

Since then, Mepesto had been playing hide-and-seek with Bjorns forces, trying to bait them into hastily prepared ambushes and fire-points. Several brutal fire-fights had already erupted in the last fifteen minutes. They had to survive for six hours. If he had the time to drop Rhinos or something, the mobility would have helped, a lot.

They were in the trees currently, towering coniferous that clung to armor and limited visibility to three or four dozen feet at best. It was an interesting battle, relying upon sounds and educated guesses rather than sight and sureness of action.

Mepesto flicked a retinal rune, switching to the all-squads frequency, 'Hold your fire. Let them get close. Full auto, leave no one standing. We'll fall back to point four-four-alpha." A host of acknowledge runes flashed in the upper corner of his display. They were strung out on a long, shallow hill, hunkered down and waiting. The Dreadnoughts, four in all, were waiting behind, ready to join the battle once it was begun.

"Brothers,' It was Kylan, who was south of Mepesto were the trees thinned just enough to make it a less-ideal spot, 'Let the fires within light the fires without! We are Warhawks, and we will not give ground to traitors and heretics! We are the Emperor's chosen! For the Emperor!"

"For the Emperor." Was the return from every voice.

Mepesto could hear footsteps, heavy ones all but drowning out the patter of lighter ones. They were coming, in strength. He could not see anything, but he guessed the traitors were about fifty meters out, but then again they could be closer because of the interference by the trees.

There! They were almost at the bottom of the hill, the tall, heavy forms of the traitors the most obvious. His hearts were filled with hate. They were hardly recognizable as Space Marines. They were mutated! Arms that ended in tentacles, too many heads, cloven hooves, armor covered with skin, too many to list. Many and hideous mutations, they had to be purged!

Mepesto racked the slide on his storm bolter and opened fire, aiming for a traitor marine with a third arm growing from a rend in his chest-plate. Red blossoms erupted on his chest. By now, the rest of the first company had opened fire, sending bolts, plasma-blasts and melta-beams screaming down the hill. They were just out of flamer range. Champion Mikal was watching them, looking for a foe worthy for him to fight, while the Brother Reiata firmly planted the standard on the hill, an obvious challenge to the traitor Marines.

The traitor marines fell back, unwilling to advance into such fire, and instead a mass of traitor guard, mutants and scum came screaming up the short hill, firing las- and autoguns wildly at the Warhawks. Their return fire was devastating on the poorly armored men. They kept coming. More joined the dazed and wounded heretics as they closed with the marines of the first company.

"Any casualties?" queried Mepesto. A few were reported, slight injuries at best, a few fingers lost or minor wounds, nothing a Space Marine couldn't live with. One Marine was dead. He was not the first lost, nor the last. Mepesto opened fire again, dropping a pair of guard who were hauling a heavy flamer up the bloody slope.

"Brother-Captain, the traitor marines are pushing around our position to the south. They are about to outflank us." Kylans rune flashed on his display and began to glow; his body was speeding up, more than likely combat drugs pumping into his system.

"Take one of the Dreadnought and as many squads as you need. Secure the flank and be prepared to fall back." If the traitors managed to turn the flank, they were all dead.

"Acknowledged, Brother-Captain, securing the flank. For the Emperor." The runes for a tactical squad, an assault squad and Honored-Brother Ajax flashed in his display. With Kylan's own Reclusiarch squad, it was good group.

"For the Emperor, Brother-Chaplain." The traitor guard units had ceased their advance, and instead were hunkered down, trading fire with the Warhawks. They were stupid, even for useless troops. The flamers had begun to fire, burning trees and shrugs, driving them back even further, just out of sight. Mepesto could hear them chanting. Now it was time to withdraw.

"Chaplain Kylan, it is time to withdraw!" Mepesto fired another volley, hopefully hitting something. He couldn't see, especially with the smoke.

"Yes Lord! The traitor Marines are in strength on the flank!" over the vox, Mepesto could hear the sounds of battle, bolter-fire, flamers, the grind of servos.

Mepesto switched to the all-squads frequency, "Withdraw by squads to sector delta-delta-four! Do not turn your backs on them!" Acknowledgement runes flashed in his display.

The crack of branches drew his attention back to the slope of the hill. The traitor Marines were advancing up the hill again, at least fifty of them. His hearts burned when he saw the eight-pointed-star painted over the red hawk that was the Warhawks chapter symbol.

Gunner Iuta opened fire with his plasma-gun, sending shrieking blobs of plasma into the traitor Marines, burning through armor, flesh and bone. One was actually screaming in pain. It made Mepesto smile as he turned and ran after his company, his command squad at his heels, trading shots with the traitors.

It had been an hour. They left approxiametly two-hundred traitor Guard on the hill and eleven traitor Marines. Eight Warhawks had been killed.

Another hour went by, with the Warhawks still withdrawing to better positions. Two more Marines, good men, had been lost. The traitor Marines were not following close behind, instead two squads of bikers rode in circles around them, harassing and trying to drag Marines off with chains. Mepesto shot two of them down as they rode past him.

One system to the galactic west, a Navy lieutenant was busy freaking out. His name was Manross and he had been told by Lord Inquisitor Kainos to find out what were the ships in the Korkan subsector. He had identified almost half of them, and he did not want to tell the Inquisitor he had only identified half of them.

Better he even knocked on the door to the Inquisitors chambers, aboard the Emperor-class battleship _Saint Celestines Might,_ he heard the Inquisitor say, 'Enter.' Only afterward, when he thought about it, he didn't hear Kainos say it; the word just appeared in his head.

"Did you identify the ships, Lieutenant?" The Inquisitor was sitting behind a desk, facing the door. Nothing was on the desk, nothing was in the room but the desk and a simple bed. It was eerie. A single glow-strip illuminated the room and it cast sinister shadows across Kainos's face.

"Out of the five vessels spotted on the long-range scanners, three have been positively identified, my lord.' Manross was shaking as he read from the data-slate in his hands, 'two are Space Marine strike cruisers, the _Vulkanis _and the _Terminus Est,_ and the _Florentine, _an Imperial Navy transport vessel." Manross took a deep breath and steadied himself.

Kainos smiled, and placed his chin on his palm. Manross couldn't even tell anything about the man, nor when he spoke to the Inquisitor on the bridge could he remember anything about him. "Is there something, Lieutenant?"

Manross swallowed and took another deep breath, "The _Vulkanis _and the _Terminus Est _were reported missing by the Warhawks Chapter almost four-hundred years ago, and the _Florentine _and its cargo of Imperial Guard were reported as lost during a warp storm."

"And?"

"Another vessel was spotted entering the system several hours ago. The _Swooping Flame,_ another Warhawks strike cruiser." Manross turned off the data-slate and thumbed the erase button.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Make sure we arrive in that sector within two hours or I'll hold you personally responsible for interfering with an Inquisitorial investigation." Kainos sat back and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Manross almost ran out of the room. When he got back into the hallway, away from the Inquisitor, he realized he was the only one that spoke.

Kainos rubbed his temples. Why was a strike cruiser of the Warhawks in the same sector as two other vessels of the same chapter, but were reported missing? He had a theory, but he was not the type of Inquisitor to jump to conclusions before he had evidence. He was not a hard-liner of the Daemonhunters, or a heretic of the Ordo Xenos, but a tempered veteran of the Witchhunters, the Ordo Hereticus.

He had enough ships, two heavy cruisers, a light cruiser a massive transport with a cargo-hold full of nervous Guardsmen, three Sword-class frigates, and, of course, the _Saint Celestine's Might _to get answers when he got there. If the might of his fleet was not enough, a large Adepta Sororitas Commandery, two hundred Sisters of Battle, would be enough to force the Warhawks to answer his questions.

He pressed a stud set into his desk, opening a line of communication with the fleet captain. He didn't wait to hear him answer before Kainos gave his orders.

"Send the cruisers and a transport ahead of the rest of the fleet. Tell whoever is going to be in charge they have the authority of Inquisition to do whatever is necessary!"

Back on the planet, the first company had reached sector four-four-alpha and merely had to wait there for one hour or so before the _Swooping Flame _reentered orbit and extracted them. The traitor guard were still skirmishing with them, but it was nothing to be worried about.

What made Mepesto and Kylan pause for a moment was where the traitor Marines had gone. A scout squad, Barbarus, was still ranging around the Warhawks position and they were could not find the traitor Marines.

As Mepesto thought about it, he hadn't seen one of the traitors for about half an hour. Where in the name of the Emperor had they gone?

"Push the guard back!' he snarled into the vox, 'we did not come here to fight them!' he changed frequencies to squad Barbarus, 'Barbarus, find those traitors at all costs! We will not lose them now!"

In system, Tech-Marine Cacus was praying to the Machine-God to keep the plasma-reactor below red-line and to guide the sacred vessel faster than its former counter-parts just out of range behind the _Flame._

"How close are they behind us?" Cacus hissed as he fingered the ornate bolt pistol on his waist.

"Sensors indicate the enemy ships have reversed their course and are about to enter high orbit around the far planet." The servitor chimed.

"Reverse course, and prepare the forward lance arrays and torpedo tubes are prepared for firing." By the Emperor and the Omnissiah, what were the traitors doing?

Mepesto kicked a traitor Guardsmen in the face and disemboweled another with a swipe of his lightning claws. Las-fire splattered against his armor and he returned it with his bolter. He barely registered the fact the Guard were falling back in disarray after the Marines furious counter-attack. Mepesto was infuriated. How he not seen the traitor Marines falling back? How?

"Squad Barbarus, have you located them yet?!" he stressed the last word, as if he was impatient with the Scout-Sergeant. He was.

"We just have, lord. They are currently boarding Thunderhawks or what were Thunderhawks and are quitting the planet."

"Harass them. Do all that you can to keep them on this planet! Anything at your disposal, use it! I expect to have a report in five minutes on your success. Mepesto out." Emperor's blood! His first company command and he had made a mess of it. If he could capture at least one of the traitors, it would all be worth it. It would all be worth it.

Barbarus put his magnoculars back in their case on his hip. What, in the name of the Emperor, was he going to do? He had a plasma-gun and a sniper rifle in the squad and that was it. Only one thing to do.

"Raglon, cover us!' Barbarus didn't even let the sniper acknowledge the order before he continued, 'everyone else, follow me. Full auto, target the 'hawks!" Barbarus got up, drawing his pistol as he moved and began to run towards the traitors. He had, at most, two minutes before all the Thunderhawks had taken off. There were only two left on the ground and he could hear their engines beginning to cycle.

The Thunderhawks themselves were hideous. They were bloated, like a giant blister, and covered with green scales. The view-ports of the cockpit were multi-faceted, like an insect. It looked like the things were breathing.

Barbarus knew he was out-numbered and out-gunned, but he not only had orders, but he had the element of surprise and the Emperor was with him.

Bolter fire and plasma-bursts began to streak towards the closest Thunderhawk, which still had its cargo-hold open. It looked like a mouth. There were only five traitor Marines boarding it. Correction, four were boarding. One Marine was already falling, thick red blood pouring from his neck where Raglon put a hard round from his sniper rifle. The blood was hissing as it ran down the Marines armor.

Four actual Chaos Space Marines, who, if at a different time, would be welcomed as brothers. The odds of his six, lightly armed and armored Scouts, being able to kill or incapacitate four Space Marines would be interesting.

The traitor Marines were already firing, four corrupted bolters chattering, the muzzle flashes bright as the sun began to go down. Brother Relian was dead; half of his chest was missing. Barbarus dropped to one knee, trying to make as little target as possible and emptied the bolt pistols clip into the closest Marines face. Sparks flew; the helmet dented and finally gave in with a messy crack. The Marine did not so much as fall. He seemed to crumple in, like his body did not want to die. His blood stank, like a sewer or a stagnant pool. The world slowed down even more to Barbarus, his metabolism was working in overdrive.

Brother Hatash finally opened up with the plasma-gun; the searing plasma-bolts left great white splotches across Barbarus's vision. Another traitor Marine went down, but this one continued to fire as he died, pitching Brother Norad onto his face with multiple wounds to his upper legs and lower torso. Brother Jor was dead also, killed by multiple bolt wounds to the face and chest. His body was held in the air by the bolt rounds. The traitors were laughing, which sounded increably sinister in slow motion. Brother Hatash screamed as his plasma-gun overheated with a piece of shrapnel in the cooling lines. His arms and chest were eaten away.

A faint crack registered in Barbarus's mind and a traitor Marine grunted in pain, a wound in the shoulder joint of his spike-encrusted armor. The traitor Marine's breath steamed in the cooling air as he took aim at the Scout Sergeant. The world slowed even more. He could see the blood beginning to fountain as Brother Jor continued to fall. Barbarus's had no time to reload, instead he thumbed the activation rune on his chainsword and threw it at the wounded Marine end over end. He felt ligaments tear in his shoulder. A bolt round grazed his leg and he fell onto Brother Jor. Another crack, then another and another.

Barbarus felt solid shape of Jor's shotgun and the Sergeant hefted it, and fired in one smooth motion, barely registering a target. He racked it and fired again and then only did he see what had happened.

The traitor Marine he had thrown his sword at was staring, almost comically, at the sword sticking out of his chest. He fell backwards, ever so slowly. The other looked dead, several dents on his helmet and numerous bloody wounds in the joints of his armor from the shotgun. Barbarus wrenched off the traitors helmet and checked for a pulse.

The double-thump of a Space Marines hearts greeted him.

The other Thunderhawk was just taking off. It had been on the other side of this one, and its crew or cargo hadn't noticed the fight, or didn't care. It didn't matter. It had been exactly forty-five seconds since the attack began.

"Is he dead?" he asked quizzically. The oozing blood made the slightest sound squelches as his feet hit.

"By the Emperor, he should be! How did you get the rounds to dent off his helmet like that?" Barbarus held up the Marines helmet, which had veins running up and down it. It was warm. The Sergeant threw it down before it tainted him.

"I didn't. I was just firing, trying to keep him from killing you." Raglon looked almost confused, staring at the dents on the helmet in a nearly fascinated way.

"Whatever.' Barbarus changed frequencies on his vox, 'Captain Mepesto? We have a live one."

Mepesto's dour voice greeted him. "Secure him. We are on our way."

"We are entering the system now, Captain."

Janes, nominated to be in charge of the forward elements of the task force, barely heard the noticed. He was having troubles not staring at Palatine Katherine. She was clad in black power-armor, with red trim. There was no livery or marking on the armor at all, except for deviational texts and scriptures. A long, beaded icon was wrapped around her waist, a bolt pistol holstered there too. A heavy mace was on her back. Her faith radiated out around her like a physical thing.

Janes had two cruisers, the_ Star of Saint Lydia_ and the _Emperor's Pride_, they were ships of the line, built for heavy fighting, with massively armored prows and flanks, with heavy lance arrays and torpedo tubes. The Guard transport was effectively junk, it was so old it was a miracle it was still running. Still, two whole regiments were a lot of men.

"Where are the ships now?" Katherine spoke. It was the first time he had heard her speak. She did not sound like the instrument of Emperor's Will the priests spoke off during mass; her voice had a feminine, soft quality to it.

"The only vessel currently in system is the _Swooping Flame_, which is currently powering roughly towards us, heading for warp-gate Epsilon-Keta-Four. Emissions signatures indicated the other vessels, including the _Vulkanis _and _Terminus Est_, went through said warp-gate." A lieutenant, looking over the sensorium array spoke.

Before Janes could speak, Katherine head up her hand, cutting him off instantly.

"I want to speak with the Marine commander."

"Yes, ma'am." The comms servitor droned for a moment as its spidery hands flew across a rune-covered panel.

The grizzled face of a veteran Space Marine appeared on the pic-screen. His face was heavily scarred, two gold service studs set into his forehead. He had fires burning in his eyes and blood stains across the visible part of his shoulder-guards.

"Who am I addressing?" his voice was harsh, and cut through Janes like a knife. He wanted to hide, such was his fear of the Space Marine.

"I am Palatine Katherine, given the authority of the Emperor's Holy Inquisition. You will stand your ship down and await questioning by Lord Inquisitor Kainos when he arrives in less than two hours." She still sounded like a girl and not a trained killer.

"This is an internal matter of the Warhawks chapter, and does not concern the Inquisition or its lackeys!" he spat angrily, his eyes hardening. Janes was still frozen, his eyes wide.

"If you do not cut the power to your engines and lower your shields, I will disable them! No one defies the power of the Emperor, not even a Space Marine!" Katherine's voice was hardening, and she was beginning to finger the Chaplet Ecclesiasticus around her waist.

"I repeat, Battle Sister, this is an internal matter! We will be out of this system in less than an hour. Stay out of our way!" With that, the image cut off.

Katherine spun and rounded on Janes.

"Move to intercept them! Disable their engines and shields. I will do the rest, in the Emperor's name." Katherine's voice was hard and brittle like ice. Her eyes were a-blaze with her faith.

"What are you going to do?" Jane's voice was cracking and he was trying not to shake. All this was so much, Space Marines and the Sisters of Battle fighting, what was going on?

"I am going to board them and bring this renegade to justice." Katherine spun again and strode away.

The first company had lost fifteen marines, including the scouts. Every one of them was irreplaceable, someone who would have been valuable in the coming battles. One of the marines Kylan had fought with for decades, Sergeant Korax. His head had been pulped by repeated bolt rounds.

"Captain, you know the Battle Sister will try to board us. We have only a few minute window to reach the warp-gate before they are within range to board us." Kylan and Mepesto were speaking in the chapel where both of them had been quickly praying for the souls of those who had fallen.

"If it comes to a boarding action, we will repel as we make for the warp-gate. Sisters of Battle are no problem by themselves, but if they cram hordes of guardsmen into our decks, valuable marines will fall. If anything, they will have such a brief moment to board us, their torpedoes and shuttles will miss us and overshoot."

"I am still troubled by the willingness with which the Battle-Sister gave us orders. We fight for the same Emperor, yet others seem to fight for their own reasons. Is this Inquisitor going to be one of those who fight for his own reasons and not for the good of the Imperium? Kylan bowed his head as he spoke, as if he knew the heresy within his own words.

"Chaplain, that borders on heresy and sedition. However, you are still correct. This Inquisitor will not see the honor for which we fight and instead see the arch-enemies hand in our actions."

"A man need only have faith in the Emperor."

"For the Emperor."

Katherine led all two-hundred of her Sisters in prayer as they began to board their torpedoes and shuttles. It was quite a sight. Dozens of black-armored women marching in step with weapons ready and eyes blazing with their faith, the walls ringing with the sounds of their prayers. The very air itself was thick with the sheer piety of the women.

The torpedoes were crammed full of Seraphim squads, their jump-packs removed for the simple reason of how impractical they were in a ship! Several women in each squad were issued with twin hand-flamers and all had melta-bombs and frag grenades. The Seraphim would be the first to get to grips with the Marines, due to the torpedoes being faster than the boarding shuttles.

The boarding shuttles carried everything else. Battle Sister squads with storm bolters and melta-guns, a Celestian squad, and Retributers with their heavy bolters and multi-meltas. Katherine was throwing everything at the Marines.

She also had several platoons of Imperial Guardsmen as the second wave, ready to flood the Strike Cruisers decks with their bodies and their faith. Many would die, but Katherine would haul the Space Marine commander before the Inquisition for questioning.

Katherine was the last to board after ensuring every Sister was ready. Not all of her Sisters would survive and she wanted to make sure she said something to each of them in case they fell.

They were cutting it close, the rites of activation were rushed as much as possible and the machine-spirits were coaxed to get every last ounce of speed. Trajectories indicated the Marines had less than a thirty percent chance of escaping.

"Scatter chaff and let us go. We need to question our prisoner, not fight an angry woman!" Mepesto snarled at the menials and serfs on the bridge. He had been watching the tactical screen for almost a minute and a half, and saw the tell-tale signs of boarding torpedoes and shuttle-craft, a reading of debris or asteroids. Except they were accelerating rapidly towards the _Swooping Flame._

Mepesto switched to a composite of the sensorium array. The chaff containers were difficult to see, but the machine-spirit identified them with a rune. A dozen canisters in all, tumbling through space. They were rigged to detonate between two and three hundred kilometers from the ship, scrambling sensors and systems over a fairly large radius, forcing the boarding craft to turn back or press on, guided by eye only.

If the craft continued on, they would surely miss the _Swooping Flame_ as she powered towards the warp-gate. The odds were enormous of the Battle Sisters reaching the Strike Cruisers. Valuable marines would be spared for the battles and conflicts to come.

Katherine was praying to herself as the heavy shuttle shot through space, surrounded by a score of her sisters. She was fingering her Chaplet Ecclesiasticus, thinking of the many acts of penance she had gone through to earn the dozens of beads along the chain.

The shuttle began to shake, slamming her armored head against the bulkhead. An orange rune flashed across her display that she blinked away angrily.

"Pilot, report! What is going on?" Katherine spat into the vox, her voice hard.

The vox was filled with static for a moment before the pilots voice came back, "Lots of chaff and sensor-deadeners, ma'am! We'll have to turn back or risk getting lost in the field!"

Katherine did not know what to say. A Sister Superior spoke up instead, "Continue on! Make sure the other craft do so also! The Emperor will guide us!"

"Sorry ma'am! An Inquisitorial override is forcing us to turn around."

Katherine slammed her fist into her thigh and clenched her teeth. Emperor's blood, why was Kainos making them turn back? If she needed to martyr her whole command, then so be it, but turned tail in the face of trouble was unacceptable!

The prisoners name Tylan Juinas, a former Veteran Squad member. It was rumored that he had been a member of Bjorn Death-Hands personal retinue and thus would know Bjorn's whereabouts.

"Where is Bjorn Death-Hand?!" Kylan yelled again. For three straight days, Kylan had relentlessly interviewed Tylan, stopping when he had lost his patience to torture the traitor, and he lost his patience more and more as the time wore on.

Tylan had remained silent for a moment, then spoke, "You should let me finish telling you about the other powers in this universe. You should be more polite, Chaplain. I did not think that Space Marines got angry." Tylan was sarcastic and caustic-tongued.

"My anger is righteous and my words true! You will be tormented forever by daemons and you will not join the Emperor when he rises from the Golden Thorne to lead the Imperium to victory against the forces of Chaos!" Kylan knew he was getting off topic, but he wanted to break this traitor before he killed him.

"So what if I am tormented forever? Others will continue my work after my death."

"Are you afraid of dieing, traitor?' Kylan spit the last word out, 'Have your long years under the banner of Chaos made you that weak?"

"Ha! I only do not want to rot in this prison for the rest of my life, kept alive by your medical processes and your rejuvenat drugs!"

"If you tell me where Bjorn is, I will make sure your death is quick, this I promise you." Spoke Kylan softly now.

His voice a whisper, Tylan spoke, "He is at Sicarus, but you can not kill him. He had been amassing troops and making pacts with daemons! He will rend your flesh and devour your soul! He will cast the Emperor from his black throne and drink from his skull!"

Kylan strode to the prisoner and fired a single shot into the traitors head. "May the Emperor judge you harshly," he spat.

Opening the door to the chamber, Kylan spoke to the two guards outside, "Notify Captain Mepesto we know where Bjorn is."

Katherine now found herself standing in front of the Inquisitor, recounted every detail about her brief conversation with the Space Marine.

"What would you say his attitude was?" Kainos was writing something on a piece of parchment as he spoke. The stylus was studded with nails.

"He was quite angry, angrier than I have ever seen anyone before. Some thing also appeared to be troubling him; I could see it in his eyes." Katherine spoke after a moments thought.

"Did he say anything towards what his intentions were?" Kainos set the stylus down and dabbed at the blood on his hand with a kerchief.

"Nothing towards what his future intentions were, my Lord. He did say we were inferring in an internal Chapter matter and it was none of our business." Katherine was once again rolling the beads of her Chaplet around in her hand. What would make a Space Marine willingly defy the Emperor in such a way? Such thoughts would lead her to the Chapel for a long time when the Inquisitor was done with her.

"Make sure your Sisters remain at ready. We are going to speak with the Warhawks Council and see what they have to say to towards this." Kainos took up the stylus again, grimacing slightly as he did so.

"Yes Lord. My Sisters are always ready to do the Emperors work." Katherine bowed and spun on her heel, sucking in a deep breath as she did so.

"Attention, 1st Company,' began Kylan; Mepesto had thought it was best that he deliver the news and the battle sermon, 'we have found the location of Bjorn Death-Hand and his traitorous followers."

A great cheer erupted, followed by silence. They were disciplined and experienced to know something was to follow.

"Unfortunately, because our Company as taken so many casualties in the past weeks, the Third Company is going to assist us in wiping those traitorous scum from the universe,' continued Kylan, 'now, bow your heads in prayer."

For two minutes, the Company was in personal prayer. Some prayed for strength to fight the coming battle, others prayed for courage to help them face so many of their fallen brothers, others prayed for their very souls; for if some of their number to could be swayed by the Ruinous Powers, it could happen to any of them. Those who had that kind of prayer quickly banished those heretical thoughts from them, praying instead for the kind of strength and courage that Mepesto had at Hell Gate.

"KNEEL!" boomed Kylan, his normally loud voice sounding like a hundred Chaplains in the silence.

"We ask the Emperor for strength." began Kylan

"For we alone cannot stand against the darkness," came the reply

"We ask the Emperor for courage."

"Because against the terror, we need His courage."

"What does the Emperor ask in return for this?"

"Our unquestioning loyalty and our lives."

"What does the traitor have?"

"Nothing. The traitor is cast out from the Emperors light."

"What does the heretic have?"

"Nothing. There is nothing more hated in the entire universe than a heretic."

"Praise the Emperor"

"Praise the Emperor"

"Strength and Honor to you all." Finished Kylan

"Strength and Honor to you, Brother-Chaplain."


	3. Many events

Chapter 3

Many events

Katherine whipped the lash across her back again, earning a fresh shudder of pain and the fresh feeling of blood. Another lash, a muttered shriek, more blood and she wiped the lash clean of her blood, so the blows wouldn't be dulled by the clotting blood. Her back was a mass of gashes, old and new, marks of penance for what had happened with the Space Marine.

What would make a Space Marine turn from the Emperor? This thought is why she had taken up the lash more and more often, trying to seek the answer through pain, penance and prayer. Such was her way.

Some of her fellow Sisters would question why she needed to know the answer. Her orders to bring the Marine to justice were all that mattered, the reason why did not. To question a direct representative of the Emperor was heresy of the highest order and deserved nothing less than a shriving, ritual torture and eventually death.

However, Katherine was not questioning her orders or her faith, these were without question. What she was thinking of was the Space Marine. Since she had been a child, Space Marines had been used again and again as the paragon of faith, the living embodiment of the Emperor. They were genetically modified supermen, the fortress upon which the Imperium was founded.

This is what threw off Katherine. Something great was troubling the Marines soul, something so great it caused him to ignore orders from the Emperor's Inquisition. There were so very many things Katherine was confused about, this is why she took to the lash, using pain to clarify her mind and steel her resolve. Even though the Marine's predicament weighted heavily upon her mind, she would not hesitate to put a bolt in his head.

The Sister sighed and wiped a well-soiled cloth along the grox-leather lash, pausing the scrap the dried blood from the dozen knots along its length. The lashes handle was worn and had handholds worked into it. She gripped it with both hands and whipped it over her head with a crack. This time she barely stifled the scream, cutting through at least the muscle, almost to the bone. She only had an hour or so until she needed to begin her wargear rites. From what the Inquisitor said, they were prepared to re-enter real-space and travel to the last known location of the Warhawks battle barge, the _Wrath of the Emperor_, their massive mobile headquarters, where their Council had its seat, in the Kipth system.

Katherine now stood on the bridge of the _Saint Celestine's Might_, arrayed in full armor, her weapons by her side. She was watching the main viewer, a single icon highlighted upon it, the _Wrath of the Emperor._

Beside her stood Inquisitor Kainos, who was unreadable as ever. He was in full ceremonial regala, which was highly ornamental heavy carapace armor and master-crafted weapons. He obviously wanted to look good for this occasion, but ready for battle at the same time.

"What are you planning to do, Inquisitor?" Katherine spoke softly, as to not let the bridge crew know their conversation.

Kainos smiled slightly, showing just a hint of his ivory teeth.

"You and several squads of your Sisters will accompany me aboard their ship, and we will demand of the Chapter Council to know what Mepesto's intentions are. If necessary, depending on how cooperative the Council members are, I have several sanctions to place upon the Warhawks and force them to answer me." Kainos was utterly calm, most people, even Inquisitors, would be hesitant to threaten a Space Marine chapter from within their own vessel, but not Kainos.

From his birth upon one of the most holy of worlds, Terra, Kainos had been indoctrinated to believe that faith in the Emperor can overcome all. Sleep-teaching taught him a huge number of the Ecclesiarches teachings and prayers. His first calling in life was as a preacher, spreading the faith across the stars. He was not fiery in his devotion; he was not a firebrand, using his words to inflame the righteous to great acts, and chastising the unworthy with oratories.

He was quiet and determined with his faith; his sheer devotion would fill a room and cow the faithless. When he spoke, his flock would quiet down and listen to his every word, for the Emperor spoke through him.

He was unafraid to purge the unrighteous though, and on the world of Calmor, Kainos and his flock did battle with an apostate priest. The apostate was burned along with a thousand of his followers and Kainos earned the attention of the Inquisition.

Kainos was taken into the band of a Witch Hunter, a member of the Ordo Hereticus and eventually became the inquisitor's interrogator. Kainos took to the task with great zeal, his faith lending him great strength in his thankless tasks.

Now his sheer faith in the Emperor made his belief unshakeable. Nothing would stop him in his duty, not a chapter of Space Marines, not the very stars themselves would even slow him!

Katherine took her place at the head of the heavy shuttle, as was expected of her. If the Warhawks were setting an ambush, it was her duty to lead from the front. Behind and around her sat her Celestians, women who had proven their faith and courage in battle and would, one day, lead forces of their own. Katherine also had a squad of Dominions, whose meltaguns and flamers would prove invaluable in the close confines of a ship.

The inquisitor sat towards the rear of the shuttle, a rag-tag band of followers around him, she had seen the metal form a lexmechanic, and a pair of lesser inquisitors, probably men training to take up his mantle. Katherine had also seen an imperial guardsman cradling a grenade launcher in his bionic arm, and a heavy duty combat servitor with a massive heavy bolter in place of one arm. If it came down to a fighting withdrawal to the shuttle, they would be very useful.

If it came down to that. Katherine was still unsure of what was going to happen. Surely if the Warhawks were still loyal to the Emperor and the Imperium they wouldn't ambush the inquisitor. It was a big if, however, if the actions of a certain Warhawk captain were to be used as any judge.

"When will my soul be like thrice forged steel?" shouted Mepesto as he and his command squad hurtled to the earth in a shaking, bucking drop-pod. They had deployed to the Sicarus sector with the Third Company and prepared a drop-assault. Right now, a score and ten other drop-pods were shooting towards the ground, containing the bulk of the ground troops and Dreadnoughts of the two companies. After the drop-pods had landed, and a perimeter established, Thunderhawks would ferry in the Predators and Rhinos. Then, the real battle would begin, as the Warhawks fought to eradicate the taint upon their Chapter.

"In the heat of Battle!" came the reply from the nine men of the command squad. One of them, Reiata, was carrying the Banner of the 1st Company, next to him sat Apothecary Servenus, who was present at the Lange Fields massacre. To Mepesto's left was Veteran Sergeant Olav, a hero during the last battle with the traitors. Next to Olav, sat Gunner Hemitez, his bulky multi-melta making the drop-pod seem even smaller. Next to Hermitez sat Gunner Iuta, the glow from his plasma-gun casting eerie shadows. Then, there was the Company Champion, Mikal. Clad in incredibly ornate power armor, his combat shield was propped on his leg. The last three were new veterans, the trials and conflicts of the last weeks making even the most novice Marines experienced killers. They were Lioa, Naaman and Uriel.

"When does your duty end?" again shouted Mepesto. Sicarus had an unusually thick atmosphere, and the drop-assault would be taking an extra twenty seconds to reach the ground. Even though Mepesto had been in a dozen such assaults, the sheer amount of extra time was making him nervous. Enemy fighters or air defense guns could wipe out the companies before they had set foot on the unholy soil. But, so far, there was no ground fire. Maybe they were still too far above the ground to be hit, or maybe they still had the element of surprise. However, they had seen the taint Chaos had left on the planet, so they knew Bjorn was there, somewhere.

"In deaths cold embrace!" came the reply. The 1st Company at this point was comprised of about one hundred Space Marines, only at two-thirds strength for Warhawks Companies. The Third Company was at full strength, one-hundred and fifty Marines. Bjorn was said to have about one-hundred and thirty or so Traitor Marines, as well as un-numbered cultists and daemons at his disposal. It would be a hard battle, one that would be remembered forever by the Chapter, whether as another terrible tragedy, or as a day to be celebrated, was yet to be seen.

From orbit, sensors had detected a dozen enemy forces across the planet, anyone of which could be Bjorn's. Thus, the current plan of action was to eliminate each in turn until he was found. The first companies target was on a vast plain, and from there they would push up into the mountains towards several encampments. The third company was landing on the other side of the planet and hunting down a group near a what looked to be a sinister marshland. Mepesto did not envy Loran for taking the marshland, his company would loose men just to the terrain.

"What will be your reward?" Mepesto called again. The drop-pod was shaking violently now, the atmosphere getting thicker as they neared the ground. He could hear ground fire, shell-bursts and bullets whizzing past. Occasionally, a close shell-burst would throw the drop-pod violently, and then it would rock back again as the machine-spirit fought to keep the pod on course.

"The knowledge I have done my duty!" the squad replied again. Brother Servenus was checking his narthecium and reductor one last time. He would need them in the coming battle more than ever. The other squad members were checking their weapons too, cycling chain-swords, or making sure their knives did not stick in their sheathes. The only one who was calm and still was Mikal. His face was rarely seen, he preferred to remain a steadfast beacon of courage and determination, rather than be thought of as a mere mortal.

"What will be your battle-cry?" Mepesto called again, his voice a clarion call over the shriek of the hull in the atmosphere. No shell-fire or las-blasts were rocking the drop-pod, the sergeants aboard the other pods reported the same. It gave Mepesto no worry, for the Arch-enemies many nefarious ways were a mystery. A moment ago, the red light came on, signaling that the drop-pod was one-hundred meters till impact. Calmly, Mepesto racked a round into his bolter and flipped on his lighting claw.

"Death Comes for You!" shouted the squad as the drop-pod hit the ground with a bone-jarring crash. As soon as the pod was on the ground, automated storm-bolters opened fire, hopefully killing anyone foolish enough to be near it. Then, the pod split open, and the restraints holding them in popped open.

Blood. It was a plain of blood, covering everything with its red embrace and thick stench. The drop-pods landing had kicked up a huge plume of the stuff and it was now raining down upon them, drenching the Warhawks in a red mist.

Thanking the Emperor he had decided to wear his helmet, for the smell of countless billions of gallons of blood would have even begun to gag a marine, Mepesto was still shocked. The blood plain stretched on endlessly, broken only by the sight of jagged rocks and stunted, gnarled trees. Scrawny black birds were perched upon their branches and cawed incessantly. It was hideous.

And the captain could see terrible things that swam in the knee to waist deep blood, things with wide-staring eyes, too many mouths, or tentacles or any of a dozen evil things. He saw one fish with the innocent face of a child and he had to kill it with a flurry of bolts.

What became of this worlds population? Did they share a face worse than death and become the twisted denizens that leered at them from the depth of the blood? It mattered not; it would all be worth it when Bjorn was slain.

"Advance in skirmish lines! Slay anything you find! For the Emperor, we will be victorious!" Mepesto called into the vox as the armor began to roll out, casting huge rooster tails of crimson.

Mepesto gave no attention to the shots that rang out as keen-eyed marines began to kill the things in the depths. He was watching for any sign of the traitor force that was supposed to be on the plain.

As the march continued, Mepesto had to countermand his own order, for the number of appalling horrors began to increase and he wanted his men to conserve their ammunition. They had even seen a member of the population, almost unmutated, skiing across the top of the blood on a pair of pontoons. He looked like a stunted man or a large child until they had closed upon him. Then, they could see his white eyes with no iris's that stared hungrily at marines and his hunched-backed, scale-covered frame. He was burned.

However, the plain was still going on and on, and ever more terrible things were being uncovered. A stack of skulls, each with the same rune carved upon the brow, a blasphemous icon of an unholy god known as Khorne. Mepesto felt a greasy tang in the back of his throat and spoke a prayer to the Emperor to himself. It made him feel better, as he felt the arms of the Emperor wrap around him in a protective embrace.

A marine from squad Omar was the first to die. The flank had hit a deeper area, a great depression, dropping a dozen meters or more into the twisted earth. But it was not sinking to the bottom of the blood that killed the marine. It was the axe that cut him in half at the waist that killed him.

The depression four squads and a Predator were about to stumble into was far deeper than anyone had thought. It went straight to the warp, a miniature, temporary warp-hole that spat out pure terror.

Thirty beasts of blood, the monstrous ones, the footsoldiers of Khrone, the bloodletters were the first foe the Warhawks were to fight upon the cursed world of Sicarus II. At their heels, swimming through the blood as if they were enjoying themselves, were flesh-renders, dogs of war, the flesh hounds, the daemonic hunting dogs of Khorne. They were terrible, unnatural foes, that even a company of the Warhawks would be hard pressed to defeat.

The marsh was hellish in the most extreme sense of the term. Mud that the marines sank into up to their knees and waists, vehicles became trapped in the filth or wedged atop stumps and rocks. Beneath the mud, was skin. Horrid, wrinkled and reeking skin that sweated the mud from huge pores that could swallow a marine without a trace.

Instead of trees, were huge hairs, greasy and foul. There were thick forests of them, some short and spiky, others long and curly. Loras had one of the marines with a heavy flamer unit light a swath a-blaze and until it burned itself out, the land itself heaved and bucked, with what they all assumed was pain.

Loras and his company had slowed to a crawl in the marsh, half his force in a wide diamond, the other trying to keep his armor from sinking into the ooze. This was not the way to fight a lightning strike across the planet!

Sicarus II was rapidly being found to be a daemon-world, whose physics, earth, indeed everything is at the whims of the chaos gods. The very air itself is tortured by foul magic and the earth groans as unnatural things occur, like the land of skin or the plain of blood, or any of the other horrors awaiting the brave marines of the first and third companies.

Orbital scans yesterday said this was a desert, perfect country for an armor sweep across half the continent. What chaos warp-spawned madness had turned a burning desert into a marsh of skin? It did not matter. They would sweep the marsh and push on, regardless of difficulty.

"Contact to the left! Three dozen meters, looks like several hundred humanoids, sir!' Sergeant Braums icon flashed on his retinal display. He was a tactical sergeant, whose level-headed decisions and proper timing formed the core of a battle-line. 'Correct that Captain, they are mutants. Most have weapons. We are engaging."

"Acknowledged.' Loran changed the channel to the company frequency with a flick of a retinal icon, 'Wheel left, formation two-delta!" Loran racked the slide on his bolt pistol and drew his sword with a flourish, thumbing the activation rune at the same time, encasing the ancient power sword in a sheen of blue energy. More than likely he would not need it, Sergeant Braums had things under control.

The crack-shriek of bolters and the whistling scream of plasma weapons began to fill the air as the marines opened fire. Braum's squad was in the center of the line that formed and he began to advance, loosing calm, disciplined shots with every step he took.

A spray of mud and filth obscured his vision for a moment as Honored-Brother Seth joined their advance, his assault-cannon mowing down ranks of the mutants with ease.

The return fire was pointless at best. Ancient black powder weapons, rusted lasguns and autoguns splattered random shots along the marine line, more often than not casting up a plume of filthy water rather than a scoring a hit. It was a slaughter.

Three minutes later, Braums brought his chainsword across the shoulders of the last mutant, removing his twin heads in a welter of corrupted blood. Not a marine had fallen, nor injured. Every mutant was slain.

"Resume the advance! We must press on." Loran's voice cut in across the vox. Braums deactivated his sword and was moving to rejoin his squad when a squelching, sucking sound from behind him caught his attention.

A long horn was rising from the muck. Then a green head covered with buboes and a single, leering eye. The veteran Sergeant knew what it was and there would be more of them to come.

"Daemons! Daemons on the flank!" Braums shouted into the vox as he drew his pistol and sword once more, this time he was going to be fighting for his life and very soul and several dozen of the foul daemons emerged from the muck and began to advance upon the disorganized flank of the Space Marines.

Katherine found herself nervous as the shuttle slide into one of the _Wrath of the Emperor's _massive docking bays on its landing claws. She could not see outside and did not know if the Warhawks had set an ambush for them or if the docking bay was hard vacuum or any of a massive number of things that could go wrong right now.

As soon as the shuttle stopped, she was on her feet, checking her bolt pistol was loose in its holster and her power-mace was ready by her side. A brief scan of her display indicated all of her sisters were ready. She punched the activation rune for the door. With a hiss of hydraulics, the blast door slid open and the ramp extended down. It was quite a sight that greeted her and her force.

A company, an entire company, was standing in parade formation, banners unfurled and armor shining. The cavernous hanger was empty except for the one-hundred or so Space Marines. To the left and right of the shuttle were scars on the metal from ships landing and blackened exhaust marks from engines. A quick estimate told Katherine at least eight shuttles could fit in the hanger, they had removed them all just for this.

Katherine was in awe as she led the sisters down the ramp and deployed them in ranks; Kainos found his way to fore and strode out to speak with an ornately armored marine at the fore of the company. Katherine just stood back and watched, this was none of her business right now.

Evidently, the marine commander wanted the Inquisitor to inspect his company before going on to speak with the chapter council. How droll. From his body language and the echoing voices Katherine could hear, Kainos was not quite happy with this.

"Get ready, this could be trouble." Katherine hissed into vox and was satisfied with how fast her sisters acknowledged.

Kainos seemed to relent and the marine commander led the Inquisitor around and showed him the company. It was going to be a while before they could get out of the hanger. Not a single marine seemed to escape the inspection and the marine commander was exhaustive in showing the Inquisitor everything.

Three hours later, the inspection was done. By now, Katherine had recited the battle hymn of the Adeptus Soritas more times than she cared to count and her oaths of vengeance at least a dozen times. Kainos and his entourage rejoined Katherine and her force, his face livid red and set in stone. He had a slight twitch under his eye and he didn't look at Katherine when he spoke.

"They are going to delay us as much as possible. It is time for us to move." He did not sound happy.

"Yes Lord. We are following your lead." Katherine nodded once as she spoke.

"We are going to be following the marine commander to the chambers. Do not say anything!" the Inquisitor hissed at the end.

"The Sisters of Battle know how to conduct themselves with décor, Inquisitor. We are not merely some of the finest troops in the Imperium." Katherine responded.

"Let us go."

As much as she enjoyed seeing the interior of a Space Marine battle barge, Katherine could sense the marine commander, who introduced himself as Felician, was leading them in circles. He just had to show them the massive chapel that dominated four decks, and explain the histories of every famous figure that was immortalized in statue. It had been a long day.

Finally, Katherine lost it. She took off her Sabbat-pattern helm and glanced at Kainos for confirmation. He nodded.

"Lord Marine, please just take us to the council chambers now! We do not have the time for all of this!"

Felician stopped in his walk to another statue, this one a gigantic figure in Tactical Dreadnought armor, and spun on his heel to face the Battle Sister.

"If that is your wish." He crossed his arms behind his back as he spoke.

"Yes! Let us go. We have much to discuss and little time to discuss it in!" she spat, feeling her blood rise.

"Follow me then."


End file.
